


Another Love

by actual_trashbag_living_in_space



Series: Long Way Down - Tom Odell [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post 3x13, Will can't get over him, apparently I can only write angst where hanni doesn't survive lmao, dark!Will, death tw, hannibal doesnt survive the fall, self harm tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5348861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actual_trashbag_living_in_space/pseuds/actual_trashbag_living_in_space
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s not you, it’s me.” Will hated that sentence, hated how stupid and cliché it sounded, hated how it was just a weak excuse for not trying hard enough. But it was true, essentially. It wasn’t them. It was him. Always him, unable to forget the thrill he’d felt when he’d pushed that knife deep inside of Dollarhyde, unable to forget the warmth of Hannibal’s arms wrapped tight around him, unable to forget the feeling of Hannibal's heart underneath his cheek.<br/>---<br/>Hannibal doesn't survive The Fall and Will struggles to get over him and to leave the past behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Love

**Author's Note:**

> This was roughly inspired by the song Another Love by Tom Odell which you should all listen to if you haven't already! :) I hope you enjoy it :)

“It’s not you, it’s me.” Will hated that sentence, hated how stupid and cliché it sounded, hated how it was just a weak excuse for not trying hard enough. But it was true, essentially. It was never them, not sweet and funny Nina who always smelled like coffee and old books and loved dogs just as much as Will did. Not IT Brandon who looked so cute when he pushed his glasses up his nose and who knew exactly what to do when Will woke up in the middle of the night gasping for air, still feeling the water creep down his throat and choking him. Not Lin with her sarcasm and throaty laugh and the way her tongue curled around Russian words as if though they were her own. It wasn’t them. It was him. Always him, unable to forget the thrill he’d felt when he’d pushed that knife deep inside of Dollarhyde, unable to forget the warmth of Hannibal’s arms wrapped tight around him, unable to forget the feeling of Hannibal's heart underneath his cheek.  
***  
They say that once a dog has tasted blood it cannot stop hunting, cannot stop craving it. Sometimes Will felt that way, too, unable to rest. He wanted to kill. Wanted to see someone so weak, so vulnerable again. Wanted to see the fear in their eyes, their hands tremble, hear their voice break, their last breath shakily leaving their body. In those nights he took walks, wandered through the neighbourhood, embraced the darkness around him, welcomed it. He never took a knife, didn't trust himself not to attack the next person he saw, just to feel powerful again.  
***  
He could never say ‘I love you’. Sometimes he was close, so close, thought he could do it, had finally overcome him. But then he remembered all those times Hannibal had showed him that he loved him without ever actually saying those word, remembered the way he had looked at him, and he choked on the words. It had been three years, but there wasn't a week, a day, an hour, that he didn't think of Hannibal.  
***  
Sometimes he was scared. He couldn't name it, couldn't quite put his finger on it, didn't know why. When he cried he didn't wipe the tears away, afraid that his hands would end up slick with blood, the shiny liquid dropping from his fingers. Only when he tasted the salty tears in his mouth he started rubbing violently to erase the streaks they left behind. To get them off himself. Once, he saw a shadow in the corner of his eye, an illusion, a memory, just standing there, watching. But when he turned all he saw was the wind blowing through the trees and a dog barking on the other side of the street. When a cold shiver ran down his spine he wasn't sure if it was just the wind or if he was scared of the presence lurking in the back.  
***  
In the first two weeks after he got released from the hospital Alana called everyday, tried to make him go see a psychiatrist. Once she came by, brought him soup. She didn't stay long, couldn't really look him in the eyes. He wasn't too good with conversation, and she eventually gave up and left. Jack called him twice, never leaving a voicemail, just calling. Will didn't pick up. He hadn't heard from him since. Molly left while he was in the hospital. They both knew it was better that way, safer. He didn't know if he'd ever see Walter again. He doubted it. His house in Wolftrap was sold, all his dogs given to a shelter except for Winston. He didn't want to remember. His new apartment was simple, small, and in a two-story building. His neighbour was nice enough, even though they never really talked. He left it all behind. Or at least he tried.  
***  
Some nights he woke up, drenched in sweat, the feeling of blood on his fingers, in his mouth, on his face. He could still sense the hands that were wrapped around his throat, ready to close, ready to end his life. But he knew they couldn't, knew the person they belonged to wouldn't have been able to just kill. He would've taken his time, would've honoured him, not just eaten him like the other pigs. He would've made him suffer, would've made sure Will knew he had loved him, both at the same time. Hannibal Lecter was the only person Will had ever met that could make death and suffering look so beautiful, so graceful, so loving.  
***  
One time he was sitting in front of the TV, between Ravi’s legs, one hand wrapped around a mug with hot tea and the other one gently caressing the other man’s thigh. He didn't realise he was crying until he heard a tear falling into the hot liquid. The mug fell to the ground and shattered. Will frantically tried to grab the pieces, to make the mug whole again, to fix this, not hearing Ravi trying to get his attention, not feeling his hand on his arm. All that was there was the shattered teacup and the red blood oozing from various cuts on his hands that slowly mixed with the tea. He held three pieces in his hand, saw the blood drop from his fingers down onto the carpet, saw it turning darker, saw the green tea getting red, saw the blood, the blood, the blood. It was too much. He was gasping for air, felt like he was drowning, felt the blackness and the cold of the water squeeze his lungs, making him unable to hold onto the body, no matter how hard he tried. He turned away, didn't look at his hands, didn't look at the cup, didn't look at the carpet. He slowly got up, with shaking hands and a trembling lip, and left the room. Another tear hit the carpet.  
***  
If it hadn't been for the fact that he needed to shave, Will would've smashed every single mirror in his apartment. Mirrors were like eyes. You saw too much. You didn't see enough. They were distracting, off the point. He had never liked mirrors, but since Hannibal was gone he hated them. The mirrors made him think he was being watched, constantly, day and night. Sometimes when he looked in the mirror he saw a face. It wasn't his, but it was just as familiar to him. It was looking right at him, staring out of his eyes and into them all at once. It was a look that called for him, a look that made him want to take his razor and cut up all his skin, destroy himself the way he had destroyed him. So he avoided the mirror as much as he could, tried not to look at his eyes too much tried not to look behind himself while shaving. It didn't always work.  
***  
He didn't cook fancy anymore. Didn't date anyone who did, either. He had become a vegetarian, too, couldn't stand the taste of animal meat anymore. It tasted like a cheap imitation of human meat, and even though he had tried, he couldn't eat it. He was mostly living on takeout and pizza, and sometimes he went out to dinner with a friend or a partner. He didn't even own pans or pots. Only used the stove for heating water. He had kept the kitchen as clean as possible, emptier than the other rooms, almost devoid of memories. It was easier to breathe when he was in there.  
***  
They had gotten into a fight, just an argument, really. About something petty, maybe Ravi not bringing out the trash, maybe Will always rolling around in bed, he couldn't remember. It was pathetic, how angry Will got, how easily he got enraged. But he hadn't yelled, hadn't hurt, hadn't fought in a long time, way too long. He needed it. It was unfortunate that they were in the kitchen. Unfortunate for Ravi. Will kneeled over him, one hand touching his face, muttering reassurances and endearments under his breath, while he put the knife to Ravi's chest. He smiled at him one last time, and then he pushed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :) I hope you enjoyed a little dark!will :) comments and kudos are always appreciated :p


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